Heat of the Moment
by NerdAngel
Summary: This is a collection of one shots and requests from throughout the seasons and maybe some AUs. Genres and characters may vary.
1. A Lesson in Conning a Con Man

**A/n: So I tend to like to do these little one shots enough that I figured, why not just put them all in one setting? So here is the start of my new one shot stories. I will probably be posting any holiday or birthday ones seperately though. The reason for the over all title "Heat of the moment is** because **a lot of these just came to me, so I start to write them. I also am gladly taking any requests anyone may have as well, so feel free to leave one or some.**

 **This first story is a POV from Bobby during season two episode "Born Under A Bad Sign." So, SPOILER ALERT for that episode as well as the begining of the season.**

 **Thank you to** **anyone who reads, reviews, follows, favorites, and/or requests.**

 **I don't own SPN or any of it's characters**.

A Lesson In Conning A Con Man 

I'm a lot of things, but gullible ain't one of them. From the moment I opened my front door and saw the youngest of the Winchester boys standing there with a big grin on his face, I knew something wasn't right. I've known both Sam and Dean since they were just kids, suffice to say I know those boys better than their own father had. That may have been Sam's body standing there, but that was not Sam.

"Sam," I greeted with a grin.

"Hey Bobby."

"It's been a while."

Sam chuckled and brought his attention to the floor.

"Come on in," I said, opening my door wider as a sign of invitation. As he entered the my house, he let slip a tell of exactly what kind of "Sam" I had invited in. I watched as the the boy's eyes flicked up to the ceiling briefly and then back in front of him. He had been checking for something, a trap. "So, what brings you?" I asked still in a friendly voice.

"Working a job nearby and I thought I'd stop in to say hey."

"Where's Dean?" That question had earned me a scoff.

"Held up somewhere with a girl and a 12 pack," had been his reply. I left Sam and made my way into the kitchen were I quickly threw together a holy water beer.

"Oh yeah? Is she pretty?" I called back.

"You ask me, he's in way over his head."

I returned with two bottles in my hand.

"Well, it's good to see you." I tilted mine towards Sam's "to John." He smiled and clinked his bottle with mine.

"To Dad." I watched as he managed to take a good chug of his beer before keeling over and coughing. Smoke sprayed from his mouth and he fell to his hands and knees. "What did you do?" He hissed through breaths.

"A little holy water in your beer," I said simply "Sam would have never noticed. But then, you're not Sam, are you?" My gaze never left the possessed boy's eyes as they went from jet black back to hazel. I stared down at him calmly. "Don't try to con a con man." With that my fist met "Sam's" face and the man and demon were out. It pained me to see him like that, but I knew it was going to be worse for Dean.

I picked up the phone to dial Dean's number, but found the line dead. The work of "Sam" no doubt. Without losing any more time then I had, I got to work rounding up rope and pulling up a chair so that it sat right underneath the Devil's Trap I had made years ago. Until I could get another hand in lifting Sam's giant unconscious body into the chair I was going to have rope his hands behind his back.

Luckily, and unsurprisingly, Dean had had a feeling his possessed little brother was going to make a stop at my place next. I swear that boy is tuned into Sam Winchester radio 24/7. I led Dean over to him and together we tied his arms to the chair. I watched Dean's reaction as we tried to come up with a game plan. He wouldn't stop staring at his slumped over brother with a look of defeat and guilt on his face. No doubt the Idjit blamed himself for this, and no doubt it hadn't been his fault to take.

Quickly I decided the best way to go about this was an exorcism. It would at least be the least painful for Sam. I watched as Dean smacked his brother's face as a means to wake him. It worked. The demon focused it attention on Sam's brother and began to taunt him. I knew Dean well enough to know that even behind his tough exterior, inside he was cringing every time he heard Sam scream from the demon being burnt by the holy water. It pained me too. Sam and Dean were like sons to me, family. To see him possessed was hard, not to mention it brought back memories of Karen. If I only I knew then what I know now.

I began the exorcism while Dean continued to talk with the demon.

"You're not getting Sam. You hear me? Because I'm gonna kill every one of you first." I knew that wasn't a threat, but a promise. He tried to keep his voice strong, but it shook ever so slightly and if I looked up from the book, I bet I would have seen that sad kicked puppy look that he would try to quickly mask with a an angry face.

My reading only stopped when Sam went from screaming to laughing. I had been around and exorcised enough demons to know that laughter at that extent, wasn't a good sign. The demon reassured Dean that he wasn't possessing Sam because of the supposed "master plan" the yellow eyed demon had going for Sam. I quickly began reading again, the sooner we had that demon out of him the better.

"Oops!" The demon yelled, causing me to stop again "doesn't seem to be working. See, I learned a few new tricks." It's eyes which had been glued to Dean closed and Sam bowed his head mumbling something in Latin that I was unfamiliar with. The fire that I had put on earlier suddenly flared up startling both me and Dean and a sudden wind picked up causing papers and things to take flight around my study room.

"This isn't going like I pictured. What's going on, Bobby?!" Dean yelled over the sound of the wind.

I walked to the other side of Sam, doing a quick scan with my eyes, until they fell on his right arm. I quickly tore back his shirt sleeve to reveal a bright red mark that reassembled a Q. I hadn't seen it that often, but apparently that didn't matter. It pays to have a good memory.

"It's a binding link!" I informed Dean also raising my voice so that I could be heard. "It's like a lock! He's locked himself inside Sam's body!"

"What the hell do we do?!" Panic was clear in Dean's voice as well as written all over his face.

"I don't know!" There was the sound of something cracking and we both looked up to see my ceiling a split start to snake it's way through the Devil's Trap and eventually break it.

"There," Sam said eyes now back to black and a smile on his face "that's better." With only a look, he sent me flying into a wall, hitting it hard, and tumbling to the ground.

It knocked me pretty good and it took a few minutes to get my vision back completely focused, but I managed. When I finally could see, I saw Sam repeatedly hitting his fist into his brother's face. As quickly and quietly as I could, I pulled the poker from next to the fireplace, stuck into the fire and waited for it to grow white hot, then snuck behind the possessed boy. I waited for him to swing his arm back, then once he did I grabbed it and pressed the still hot poker onto his arm. Sam let lose a loud inhuman scream and black smoke fled from his body dropping him to the ground as it left. As I expected, Sam woke up confused at the scene before him. He looked from me to Dean who had actually taken some real damage against the demon. Happy to have his brother back but still looking for some payback, Dean socked Sam right in his cheek. He looked at me in disbelief and confusion and I looked down at the two who reminded me of a couple of toddlers.

Once I had made sure both brothers were taken care of, I went into my bedroom and pulled out a few little charms he had picked up on a hunt with Rufus. My cell phone rang and, when I answered, it had been a friend of mine who was calling to tell me that someone or something had killed Steve and that I should be careful. I thanked him and told him to watch himself too, then went back to chat with the boys. My face must have shown my concern.

"What is it, Bobby?" Sam asked, his hand on his arm. Both pairs of eyes had been on me.

"You boys ever hear of a hunter named Steve Wandel?" I asked. Sam shifted uncomfortably, but Dean kept his poker face. Not that he needed to, I was already pretty certain I knew what happened.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just heard from a friend. Wandel's dead. Murdered in his own house. You wouldn't know anything about that?"

"No sir never heard of the guy," Dean responded quickly.

"Dean," Sam whispered trying to catch his brother's eye.

"Good. Keep it that way. Wandel's buddies are looking for someone or something to string up. They're not going to slow down to listen to reason," I paused looking straight into Dean's eyes. That should be enough for them to get the message, but those two were known for letting things fly over their heads from now and again so I added "you understand what I'm saying?"

"We better hit the road," Dean removed the ice pack from his shoulder and pushed himself to his feet. Sam followed suit. "If you can remember where we parked the car," he teased.

"Here. Take these," I insisted handing one to Dean then the other to Sam.

"What are they?"

"Charms. They'll fend off possession. That demon's still out there. This'll stop it from getting back up in you."

Dean, ever the charmer that he is responded with "that sounds vaguely dirty, but thanks."

"Your welcome," I countered with a quick smile. "You boys be careful."

"You too," Sam said. He gave me one of those sad apologetic smiles, and turned to follow Dean out the door. Sam was an emotional one, no doubt about it, but he knew that I wasn't exactly the girly talk type and a simple head nod and grin satisfied me well enough. I watched them leave and then turned back to look at the chaos that consisted of books, papers, blood, and pieces of ceiling scattered all over the room. Those two Idjits had created ANOTHER mess and I was once again left to clean it up. "

Balls."


	2. Life's Not Always a Tea Party

**A/n: Ok so I won't be cranking these out super fast, it just so happens that I had this one and one more already done.**

 **This is a one shot from Audrey's Teddy bear's POV from the episode "Wishful Thinking" in season 4.**

 **Thank you miXiZ for your recent review as well as Asophomore (Guest) and RavishingR (Guest) for your reviews and requests. Please know that I will be working on both of those awesome suggestions gladly.**

 **Thank you to LilyBolt and anyone else who reads, reviews, follows, favorites, and/or requests.**

 **WARNING: there is mention of depression and attempted suicide as shown on the episode.**

Life's Not Always a Tea Party

It had started the same as any other day. Audrey had left me sitting on one of the little plastic white chairs sitting at a white plastic table that had various crayon markings and half stickers on it. A little porcelain tea set had been placed in front of me as well as Cuddles the cat, Olivia the Owl and of course Dudley the dog. A truly vain piece of fluff if I do say so myself. I was fairly new to Audrey's collection, which almost instantly put me as her number one favorite. Even over Dudley. I would like to think I was a pretty happy bear, why shouldn't I be? But then something changed. As I was sitting in the little plastic chair waiting for Audrey to come home, I noticed that everything around me was shrinking. Or maybe I was growing. A snap and a thud to the floor told me it had been the latter of my thoughts. I now stood a good six feet tall and I could move! I mean without Audrey's help. The little girl's eyes lit up when she came home and saw me sitting on the floor.

I may have been able to move, but I had kept it at a minimial. She rushed over to me and gave me a big hug saying that her wish had come true. Audrey talked about all the fun things we were going to do, starting with, of course, another tea party, and I was the happiest bear alive.

Life was good for the rest of the day, but by the next morning, I had changed. I didn't want to do anything anymore, nothing really seemed to matter. The world was actually full of nothing but bad. A few days later, I waited until Audrey left for school and then decided that I would go out in search for something that might fill the emptiness inside me. I made my way down and mostly out of sight towards the little store I had seen with Audrey before when she would take me on an errand run with her and her mom. I walked in and found the place empty, so I started collecting magazines with bare women on the covers as well as picked up some drinks, then went back home. These things supposedly made people feel good when they were feeling down, well that or playing frisbee with a dog or going on a boat ride. Why wouldn't it work for a six foot tall teddy bear?

By the time Audrey got home, I had been sobbing and going on about the news that was flashing in front of me. So much death and darkness in the world. What was the point of it all? What was the point of me? I had already gone through one of the bottles and was on a new one before Audrey had collected them and the magazines and told me she would be back. I didn't care. It didn't matter, nothing mattered.

After she had returned, I had practically thrown her out of her own room. I wanted to feel sorry, she had always treated me well, but I just wasn't in the mood for company. A couple of hours later, there was a knock at the door and I heard Audrey's voice call out on the other side.

"Teddy? There are some nice doctors here to see you!" When she opened the door, a man who I was sure was no doctor but Barbie's boyfriend Ken, and a lumberjack, also clearly not a doctor, were standing looking at me as though they had never seen a six foot tall alcohol dependent depressed teddy bear before. They had caught me mid drink, the news channel once again captivating my attention as they informed me of more bad happening in the world. Currently it was a fire that had taken over an entire school.

"Close the freakin door!" I shouted, my voice cracking. They did and I was left to continue my update on the world.

When it opened again, Ken entered, still looking at me strangely. "Look at this," I pointed at the television with my arm, still holding a bottle of Irish Cream "Can you believe this crap?" I asked not looking away from the television. It was still about the fire.

"Not really," he responded in a deep voice.

"It is a terrible world. Why am I here?" My orange eyes moved to Ken who gave me a fearful look.

"For tea parties!" Audrey answered. As if it had been that simple. As if tea parties were all that mattered in life.

"Tea parties. Ah-ha. Is that all there is?" I sobbed.

Well, I made the sound, but being a stuff bear, I couldn't actually produce tears. Which only made me feel worse. Ken slowly closed the door, still giving me a crazy look, the lumberjack was no better.

Life was meaningless, I knew it, I saw it. The only way to end it was to end myself. I found a piece of white chalk and somehow managed to write on the chalkboard Audrey had. Apparently along with being able to move freely and talk, I also knew how to spell. I wrote on the board my parting message; Life Is Meaningless. Signed Teddy. Then with the shotgun I had found out in the shed, Audrey's dad liked to go hunting, I put the barrel in my mouth. Still sobbing, I pulled the trigger. Nothing happened, I was still in this terrible place. Well, now I had a gaping hole in the back of my head and stuffing had sprinkled the room like snow, which was even worse!

"Why?!" I screamed and shook my paw.

When Audrey got home she was in shock. Telling me that her mom would fix it when she got back. For the remainder of the time, I sat on her bed and sobbed. Until all of the sudden I began to shrink until I was back to my normal height again and could no longer talk or move without Audrey's making me do so.

Audrey had fixed me herself, with a few pieces of strategically placed red tape. She walked proudly with me tight in her arms as we paraded down the dock with her parents looking like lobsters in tow. On our way, we passed up Ken and the lumberjack. Ken waved at us as we went on. Audrey was talking to me about how when we got home, we would have a tea party. A tea party. Sounded like just the thing I needed.

 **A/n: Thank you for reading. I would like to take this time to say that I do not find suicide or depression a laughing matter despite this story. It's a very serious matter indeed and I support and encourage anyone who needs help to seek it instead of turn to alcohol as a way to cope.**

 **Also, I promise that if you request (as long as it's not a Destiel, Wincest, Sastiel, or Sabriel request), it will be done. I can't promise it will get done immediately after you requested it, I do have a lot going on inside and outside of writing, but it will be done.**

 **Another thing, should the Guest who requested a sequel to From Heaven Above read this, I also have your request and will be posting it on Friday.**

 **Sorry for the lengthy A/n.**


	3. The Puppet Master

**A/n: This is a request from Asophomore (Guest) who asked for a Sam POV where the MoC is taking over Dean before the S09 finale.**

 **That being said, this takes place during 9X23 "Do You Believe in Miracles?" During the car ride to the big fight.**

 **Thank you so much for your request and review Aspohomore (Guest). Also to RavishingR (Guest), Ruby (Guest), and LilyBolt, my wheels are turning for your stories and thank you all for your reviews and requests. Thank you to anyone who reads, reviews, follows,favorites, and/or requests as well as for your patience if you do leave one.**

The Puppet Master

I don't think Dean's even aware of my eyes on him as he sits with his own gaze fixed straight ahead on the road. Only I know that they're actually much further away then that. It's getting worse. Ever since he came into possession of the First Blade, he's been...different. No, further back, since he got the Mark of Cain.

When he first showed it to me, back in Garth's hospital room, I had thought it was harmless. Over the last few months, I've seen how wrong I truly was.

Dean had become a killing machine. First it was with demons or vampires or some other monster of the week, and that was without the First Blade. But I've seen what he can do with it. When blade and Mark mixed with Dean, it was...I don't know what word to use. He had cleared Magnus' head clean off his shoulders with one lethal swing. That was the first time I had seen it at work. As I stood still tethered to the column in Magnus' lair, I watched as Dean became lost. His eyes had been fixated on the blade which he still had in his tight yet shaky grasp. His lip had formed into a snarl and his teeth bared. I had tried to call out to him, but for the first few times, he hadn't responded. A shout had finally earned me his eyes, but it hadn't been until he actually obeyed my command to drop the damn thing, that he fully came back to me. His eyes had been large, the hand that held the blade had still been shaking, his breath had been coming in deep pants.

Then, only a few days ago, he had killed-no, maimed, Abaddon. Once again I had to call my big brother back to me as he thrashed the First Blade repeatedly into the already dead Knight of Hell's chest.

With the blade in his hand, he's a completely different person. He wasn't in charge of his actions, the Mark was. But the instant he dropped it, breaking the combined power of the weapon and the control of the Mark, he would peer up at me with the eyes of a lost boy. Or like a dog who knew they had done something wrong.

It use to be that I would wake up to coffee already made and Dean would be sitting in the kitchen at the Bunker smacking away at cereal. He didn't even drink coffee any more. Now I would wake up and find him sitting with a glass of some alcohol or another, just depended on what he was in the mood for I guess. But whiskey was common. Sometimes he would try to hide it, but his breath was a constant give away. He no longer sat eating cereal, but was plugging away at one of the study tables in the library. Head down, eyes focused, and lips turned down in a slight frown. He no longer would greet me with anything more than a grunt or maybe a 'hey.' Periodically his left hand would move to rub at his right arm and he would close his eyes as if he were trying to will whatever he was feeling away, or embrace it, I honestly couldn't tell.

Guns and knives no longer were good enough for him, he wanted to take the First Blade everywhere as if it was some kind of security blanket. I had tried to approach that gently, insisting that he didn't really need it with him all the time. My pleas for him to leave the blade hadn't mattered. He snuck it with him which, of course, ended with another victim of the blade and the Mark.

He wasn't just using it against the bad guys any more, but allies. It offed Tessa, which could have been avoided if he had just listened to me and left it home like I told him to, and then nearly killed Gadreel. The moment he swung the blade at the angel after he had come to offer his help, Dean had gone too far.

The look in his eyes...the light he once had in them, it was gone. Save for when the blade was in his hand and a life was claimed from it. But it wasn't the same light he once had. The exhilaration that possessed him, it wasn't his. I mean sure Dean has always been good at what he does, and yeah he always had a sense of victory when he took out a monster and saved the day, but that wasn't this. He had become addicted to killing, to inflicting pain. But this wasn't him. It wasn't my brother. It was the Mark that wanted all of this. It was the Mark that drove Dean to crave the chaos and wreak havoc as often and as much as he could like he was some puppet and it was the puppet master pulling his strings. Why can't he see what it's turning him in to? How many times do I have to tell my brother that something wasn't right with it all, with him?

Now I was sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala as we raced along the road towards where we learned Medatron was slinking around, staring at him. Dean hasn't said two words to me since we duked it out verbally for the...I don't even know how many times it's been any more. The Mark has taken over him so much, I don't even know where Dean stops and it begins. All I do know is that once we stop Metatron, finding out what we can do about the Mark, was next. I'm not going to let it corrupt my brother anymore than it already has. I may have told Dean I support his decision to take down Medatron at any cost, but I wasn't going to let that cost be him. That winged douche couldn't have Dean, and neither could the Mark. I'm going to make damn sure of that, it's why I'm sitting here in the passenger seat riding shotgun. Someone has to look after my pain in the ass older brother, who better than me?


	4. Words Cut Deep

**A/n: Ok, this is a request I received from RavishingR (Guest). "The MoC begins to show its effects on Dean and Sam is worried about him but can't show it. However he still approaches him and realizes how much he's hurt him."**

 **This one shot takes place after season 9X17 "Mother's Little Helper." SPOILER ALERT for season 9 up to that point, and also season 8 (especially finale).**

 **Thank you RavishingR (Guest) for your request. Thank you LilyBolt, for your recent review. Thank you to anyone who reads, reviews, follows, favorites, and/or requests.**

Words Cut Deep

Sam rolled himself onto his back with a sigh. He had been trying to go back to sleep for what felt like hours with no such luck. A quick check of his phone, which displayed bright white numbers 3:02, told him it had actually only been a little under a half hour. The young man cussed under his breath and ran his long bony fingers through his jaw length brown hair. Depending on his situation, he normally could get himself back to sleep by closing his eyes and laying there as though he actually was doing so, pretty easily. Of course, he also knew how to cope should he wake up and need to instantly be on alert or fight mood. Thirty-two years of being a hunter will do that to you. Well, twenty-three years of being a hunter, thirty-two years of having to adjust to the "up and at'em" routine. He swung one long leg over to rest his bare foot on the floor, then his other. The hunter yawned and stretched until he heard a pop that moved up his back, causing him to groan in both pain and pleasure. Sam then slowly rotated his head in a circular motion, which resulted in some more smaller pops along his neck, then pushed himself from his bed to stand fully on the support of his legs and feet. On nights like tonight when pretending to sleep didn't work, the young man would fire himself up some water and sip at a nice cup of tea that was meant to help with such problems.

It was dark of course, but Sam's eyes were pretty well adjusted from having been laying awake for some time. The instant he opened the door, lights flooded him. The hall was always kept lit as a safety percussion should either of the Winchesters need to be up early in the morning or late at night. It was pretty common for either case.

He padded through the hall, still yawning periodically, and up the steps that led him to the Men of Letters' library. It was yet another room that usually had some form of light on, however tonight in particular the light seemed bright or larger than it normally did when the brothers were sleeping. Sam crept into the room, trying to stay as hidden as a 6'4 man could when there was nothing to keep him from view.

Sure enough, someone had been sitting at one of the large tables with a plethora of books laying open all around him. His eyes were skimming the pages while his left hand rubbed his right forearm subconsciously.

Sam wanted to be surprised to see his older brother still awake at 3 in the morning, but sadly, he wasn't. This wasn't the first night that he had found Dean like this, in fact, it seemed to be the new norm for him. The younger hunter didn't agree with it, but he knew the reason for it. His brother had a one track mind to killing Abaddon. But even then, ever since Dean had received the Mark from Cain, he hadn't been acting himself. The younger brother couldn't remember the last time the older man had smiled or laughed or hell, even cracked a joke that wasn't purely negative or sarcastic. His words were few and his tone was short. Sam noticed this over the months, but the worse were how bad his eyes had gotten over weeks. They were vacant as of late. A shadow had fallen in them, snuffing out any light that once shone bright within.

As Sam drew closer to his brother, he fought with whether or not it would be better to address him or leave him be.

"Hey," he said as though it weren't some ungodly hour in the morning. Dean didn't look up as he grunted a response back.

Sam's eyes flicked to the book his brother was currently hunched over with a scowl on his face. Dean never liked to do research, in fact he gladly welcomed any excuse to not have to be cooped up with his nose in a book. Hands on was more his thing. Sam remembered a time when Dean would deem him a geek whenever he found his little brother reading, didn't matter what it was. Well, with the exception of the time he caught Sam with their father's nude magazine he kept in his bag, then he was proud, even as Sam yelled at him to go away.

The younger brother sighed as his hazel gaze moved from the book and fell to the half empty bottle of whiskey next to it. Since the day Dean had his first beer from a fellow acquaintance of John's named Fred Jones, he liked alcohol. But Dean was never bad with it. Sure there were some regrettable nights, and mornings, but he was never completely careless. Sam remembered when it had been a means of kicking back and relaxing or just having a good time with his little brother or whoever he was with. Now and for quite some time, it was a coping mechanism. He didn't like talking about his problems, he would much rather drinking them. However, he had gone from social or celebratory drinking, to every night, to everyday anytime. The hour didn't matter anymore, hell, it had become morning coffee's substitute.

The younger man pulled his eyes from the alcohol fighting back the urge to bring up his brother's alarming consumption intake, but he knew Dean and how easy he had become to set off lately, so he decided against it.

"You get any sleep?" Sam asked as if he were innocently curious and not greatly concerned.

"No," the older hunter grunted.

"What's this, night number three now?" The younger brother asked still trying keep his tone worry free and light.

"Four."

Dean's stare stayed glued to the book in front of him, while the younger hunter raised his eyebrows at the response. Four? It was getting dangerous. A person could only go so long without sleep, he knew that well enough from personal experience.

"You going for some world record or somethin?" Sam scoffed. When Dean didn't make any indicator that he had even heard his little brother's comment, the younger man pressed on. "Look Dean, I know you want to find a way to kill Abaddon. I do too, but it's not going to do anyone any good if you work yourself to death. Least of all you." Finally, the older hunter looked up from his reading to glare at his sibling. It was then that Sam saw just how badly off his brother truly was.

His eyes looked darker and were heavier, which Sam had thought wasn't possible. The purple bags under them were the largest he'd ever seen them. All hope that his green eyes once held was now gone and something much more daunting and dreary took its place.

It took everything Sam had in him to keep himself from commenting or showing any signs that his worrying had gone beyond its norm, which was saying a lot since he actually worried about Dean a great deal more than he believed his brother even knew. He was always too busy worrying and fusing over Sam to realize that it went both ways.

"It's doin even less good to everyone with that Hell bitch still sucking air," he snarled. It was silent between the two. Dean had gone back to flipping through the pages of the book, taking up the whiskey bottle and putting it to his lips as he did so. He didn't even use a glass anymore, just took it right from the bottle. Sam watched him, feeling his eyes begin to mist at the sight before him. Dean swallowed and placed the whiskey back on the table.

"Alright," Sam said in a low voice knowing that he wasn't going to win this one. "You need anything? I was just gonna go make myself something to drink. Want me to make you a sandwich or something?" It was getting harder to keep himself natural as concern continued to grow. He had a pretty good idea of how much his brother had had to eat today, and the number he was thinking of, matched the same number as his sleep.

"I'm good," the older hunter grunted.

"D, please," he replied softly. "Let me make you-"

"Oh my God, Sam, stop!" Dean slammed his hands down on the open book causing Sam to jump slightly. "I said I was good. I'm good." The younger man knew his sibling better than any one ever could. When Dean Winchester said he was good, he was about as far from it as possible. Sam stood staring at his brother with his lips parted ever so slightly, as though he wanted to say something but wasn't sure what. Dean had never been one for awkward silences such as the one they were currently in. "Why do you even care?" He snapped giving Sam his angry quizical look he always gave when he disagreed or didn't understand something.

Those words hit Sam like a brick wall had just smacked into him. Why did he care? It took him a few seconds, but then, a lightbulb went off and he felt his throat and chest tighten. His brother couldn't still be on about that fight they had had months ago, could he? He didn't honestly think that Sam didn't care about him, did he? The younger man knew some harsh words had been spoken on his end, but how else was he suppose get his stubborn brother who insisted on sacrificing himself time and again for the sake of his little brother, to listen? Why did he insist on not letting Sam make his own decisions with his own life? If he had, all of this could have been avoided. Kevin would still be alive, Crowley and all the other demons would be permanently locked away in Hell where they belonged, Abaddon might have been taken out too, and Dean wouldn't have received the Mark of Cain in the first place. If Dean had just let Sam die, everything would have been better for everyone. But of course Dean didn't see it that way. All he saw was his little brother dead and therefore his whole world would have imploded leaving nothing but smouldering ash and shards of glass.

When Sam chose to tell his brother that he wouldn't have done the same for him, he didn't realize the impact it would have. He never would have guessed how far Dean would take those words his younger brother had said. For the first time in years, the young hunter felt stupid. That daunting dreary look, it was guilt. It was blame. Of course Dean Winchester took those words to heart, he always took the blame and guilt for everything he could. As long as Sammy never had to be burdened with such things.

It was as he stood staring down in disbelieve at his brother that he realized how much he had truly hurt Dean with those words. How deep they cut into him. How much damage they had actually done. Sure his brother wanted Abaddon dead, but that's not what these late night/ early morning drinking sessions were about. It wasn't why he pooled over countless books when he normally avoided them like the plague. It wasn't why he refused to eat or sleep. They were all covers, excuses, for what was really running non-stop through his mind.

It was those four little words that had been eating away at Dean like some parasite. Four simple words that brought the older man's world into an out of control tailspin. Those four simple words that overflowed him with guilt and pain. Sam wanted more than anything to make his brother understand that he didn't mean what he said to the extent it had been taken. Those words weren't meant to make Dean drive himself into the ground the way he was. They weren't meant for him to beat himself up over. All they were suppose to have done, was make Dean think before he acted and reacted. They were only suppose to have been a wake up call.

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but shut it again. It was no good now, his brother had stewed too long. Anything he said now would fall on deaf ears, his mind had had plenty of time to spin a truth for him to believe in, to cling on to. No words the younger man said now, could pierce the ones that were running stale through Dean's head. Sam could say anything to him and all he would hear would be "no Dean, I wouldn't." Not to mention the Mark was busy whispering sweet nothings to him and urging him to kill. He'll feel better if he just sinks a blade into something's heart or puts a bullet in something's brain. That's what it and the First Blade wanted him to think anyways.

With all words lost and now absolutely no hope that Sam would be able to get through to Dean or fall back asleep, he ventured into the kitchen to make himself some coffee. Maybe he couldn't express to his brother how much he meant to him in words, but he could try and make up for it in actions. With a cup of hot coffee in one hand, and a grilled cheese sandwich in the other, Sam made his way back into the library where he set down the plate that contained the sandwich by Dean, then snatched up a book from his brother's pile, and made himself comfortable at the neighboring table. It was going to be a long day, but Sam wasn't going to let Dean take on anything more than he already had. The sooner they found out more on Abaddon and they took both her and Metatron down, the sooner his brother could maybe get some proper rest and take proper care of himself. If he wouldn't, then Sam would.

 **A/n: Thank you for reading!**


	5. Worth A Shot

**A/n: Alright sorry it's been awhile and Ruby (Guest) and miXiZ, I'm still working on yours. LilyBolt, this is for you. You requested I write a one shot that explains why Dean hates shots. I hope this a good idea as to why that may be.**

 **Thank you to everyone who reads, reviews, follows,favorites, and or leaves a request. Special thank you to LilyBolt for your support and this fun and challenging request, as well as jojospn and miXiZ.**

 **This takes place during 10x3 "Sole Survivor."**

 **I don't ownSPN or its characters.**

Worth A Shot

"Sammy, you know I hate shots." Just because the words were obviously a clear shot at Sam's heart, didn't mean they weren't true. And although they came from the creature the young man loathed arguably the most at this point in his life, they also came from the man who mattered most. Sam responded rapidly, years of having to come up with a witty retort in a sibling squabble or an exchange with an enemy will do that to a person. The dialogue only lasted a few seconds, but from it, a memory that seemed to go on for forever hit the younger hunter like a ton of bricks.

OOO

 _Dean hated the doctor's office almost as much as he hated hospitals. In fact, he avoided them at all cost. The only reason he was sitting in the waiting room of one, was because it had been a direct order of their father's that both he and his brother go get a check up._

 _"We may be hunters, but you're both still my boys. I know it may not always seem like it by how we live and what we eat, but your health is important to me," John had said._

 _So there Dean sat, with his arms crossed over his chest bouncing his leg. Meanwhile, Sam sat next to him with his attention fixed on the old paperback book he held in his hands. Eventually, he reached over and placed a hand on his older sibling's leg pressing down on it and causing the motion to cease._

 _"Relax Dean," he said still not taking his eyes off of his reading material._

 _"You relax," Dean retorted. With that the hazel gaze moved up to the older teen._

 _"We'll be outa here soon. It's just a check up, you'll be fine."_

 _"Doesn't mean I have to like it," the older brother mumbled under his breath. Sam didn't say anything, just shook his head and went back to his book. The instant he removed his hand, he could feel his chair shaking slightly as the bouncing of his sibling's leg returned._

 _"Sam Wichester," a young woman with a tight ponytail called out standing in a doorway. Sam closed up his book and followed the woman who greeted him warmly. Only a few seconds later an older man with short black hair called for Dean. He popped up from his seat and joined him._

 _The check up was routine, such as heart rate, blood pressure, and of course questions of which the doctor wasn't a fan of most of the answers to about Dean's health._

 _"Well you're in good shape now, but keep in mind how much junk food you consume when you're older," his doctor warned him. The teen wanted to make a comment along the lines of "if I even live that long," but he decided it was best left that he keeps that to himself._

 _"Just one more thing Mr. Winchester, I see you haven't taken your influenza shot."_

 _"Yeah?"_

 _"With the cold and flu season here, I highly recommend that you get one. It'll only take a second and it's no charge."_

 _Dean had had his fair share of weaponry accidents and monster attacks, a simple two second shot was nothing for him to bat an eyelash at._

 _"Yeah, fine, whatever."_

 _"Wonderful."_

 _As expected the shot took seconds and then the young hunter was sent off back to the waiting room where Sam had been sitting waiting with his nose once again buried in his book._

 _"You good?" Dean asked._

 _"Yeah, of course. It was a regular routine check up, I told you," he responded closing up his reading and heading out of the office with his brother._

 _"Get your flu shot?"_

 _"Yep. You?"_

 _"Yep."_

 _The brothers led the building and headed out to grab a bite. A couple of hours later, Dean noticed that the spot on his arm where he had been given the shot, was starting to hurt. He ignored it, knowing that it was common for that to be case._

 _The next morning, Dean woke up to a deeper pain that had taken over his entire arm. When he asked his brother how he was feeling, his response was that his arm was a little sore, but no big deal._

 _As the days went on, Dean's body felt progressively more sore and seemed to have spread to his other arm and even his legs. Sam had noticed that he was moving slower and rubbing excessively at his arms. His skin looked piqued and Sam was woken a few times by Dean who squirmed restlessly in his bed, shivering one moment and kicking off the covers the next._

 _"D, you alright?" The younger teen asked his brother one morning as he eyed the older sibling who was staring down his untouched bowl of Lucky Charms._

 _"Fine."_

 _"I'm serious. You've been acting...sick."_

 _"I got that shot remember? I can't be sick."_

 _"Well I mean, you can. The shot's just suppose to help prevent it. It's not an immunity thing, it's possible to still get a virus of some sort." Dean glared at his brother._

 _"I'm fine Sam."_

 _As the day went on the younger brother grew more and more concerned for Dean. He was barely moving and his complexion was still not right, and now he was wiping at his forehead which was drenched in sweat._

 _The next morning, Sam woke up to the sound of something hitting the floor next to his bed. His eyes flew open and he scrambled to peer over the side. Dean was slowly pushing himself up off the floor and was trying to lift himself up to his feet by using his mattress as a boost._

 _"Dean?! Are you hurt?!"_

 _"I'm fine Sam," he replied shortly._

 _"Do you need help? What happened?"_

 _"I'm just not fully awake yet is all."_

 _"There's something going on with you."_

 _"There's nothing wrong with me," he countered managing to climb back onto his bed._

 _"Maybe we should go back to the doctors."_

 _"No!"_

 _"Dean-"_

 _Before either boy could say anything else, the familiar rumbling of the Impala sounded. Only seconds later, the engine was killed and the motel room door opened revealing a rather agitated and worn John Winchester._

 _"Alright grab your bags boys, let's go," he said with his right hand still gripping the door knob._

 _"Dad, something's wrong with Dean," Sam blurted out._

 _"Shut up Sam, I'm fine." John looked from his youngest to his oldest._

 _"What is it?" He asked._

 _"It's nothing Dad," Dean reassured him._

 _"Dean, come on."_

 _"What is it?" Their father said this time more demanding._

 _"I don't know. His body is sore, he's moving slowly, and he's sweating like crazy," Sam explained._

 _"How long has he been like this?"_

 _"Today's been the worse, but it started a few days ago."_

 _"What has he done over that time?"_

 _"Hey!" Dean shouted bring both his father and his little brother's attention and gaze to fall on him. "I'm right here. Don't talk about me like I'm not."_

 _"Can you get up?" John asked. Dean tried to push himself off of the bed to his feet. He managed to scoot a bit more towards the edge, but when he tried to move his feet to the floor he couldn't. "Don't sit there and tell me you're fine when you can barely move. Sam load your bag and your brother's bag into the car." Sam nodded and collected them. "Dean, what exactly did you do while I was gone?" John asked again walking over to his eldest._

 _"Nothin unusual," Dean shrugged. "I've gone out to get some food, Sam and I went for a drive on Wednesday. Sat around the motel waiting for you mostly. On Monday I took Sam to the doctor's and we got our check up like you told me too."_

 _"How did that go?" John asked._

 _"Fine. We're both fine. I mean after that my arm was a bit sore but nothing I'm bitching over."_

 _"Why was your arm sore?"_

 _"They gave us a flu shot, sometimes your arm's sore after. You know how it is." It was as though the puzzle pieces had clicked into place for the father. Sam re-entered the motel room._

 _"Sam, get the passenger side door." The younger son turned and left once more. John moved over to Dean bending down slightly and putting one hand under his legs and the other around his back and lifted him into his arms._

 _"Dad, what the hell-?" John moved as fast as he could plopping down his eldest son into the passenger seat while Sam stood watching him with a furrowed brow._

 _"Dad?"_

 _"Sam get in the car," John said walking around to the driver's side._

 _"Why? What's going on Dad?"_

 _"Now! Your brother needs a hospital." At those words, Sam darted to climb into the back seat, clicking on his seatbelt._

 _John pulled the Impala into the nearest hospital roughly twenty two minutes after loading his boys into the car. He was out in a flash with Sam not far behind him. The father threw open the passenger side door, picked up Dean and made his way into the hospital all the while remaining calm. He walked over to the front desk, still carrying his eldest who was looking around embarrassed and nervous._

 _"Dad-"_

 _"Can I help you?"_

 _"My son needs to be seen immediately."_

 _"Sir, we're a bit busy today, I'll do what I can. Now I'm going to need you to fill out these-"_

 _"My son cannot walk, you understand me?" His voice rose as he went on. "He needs to see someone right now. He cannot wait."_

 _"I'll see what I can do," she said as she picked up the phone._

 _"Thank you."_

 _"Wait, what? I can walk."_

 _"Not well."_

 _"Dad, what's going on?" Dean asked trying to keep his voice fear free._

 _"I think you're having an allergic reaction to the shot."_

 _"But-"_

 _"Alright take him down the hall and to the door on the left," the woman reported, hanging up._

 _"Thank you. Sam, let's go." His youngest was at his side again as they marched down the hall. Sam opened the door and John rushed Dean in. Before they could speak with the front desk agent, the door leading into the back opened and a man who looked to be in his mid forties came out._

 _"I'm Doctor Rydell, you said you think your son is having an allergic reaction to a flu shot?" He asked._

 _"I think that's what's going on."_

 _"What are his symptoms?"_

 _"He can hardly move his arms and legs, he's clammy and warm to the touch, he's got a temperature."_

 _"How long has this been going on." Another man came in with a gurney, took Dean from John, and placed him on the bed. Sam's eyes were wide and glued to the scene before him._

 _"Dean, how long?"_

 _"I just woke up like this," he said._

 _"But he was sore after we got our shots," Sam piped up. "We both were. His lasted longer and I think was getting worse." Dean shot his brother a glare, Sam ignored it._

 _"Is there anything else you've noticed wrong? Irregular breathing, swelling of the limbs?" Sam shook his head. "Alright, we'll take him in and get started." No sooner had the doctor said that, when Dean was rushed through the door the doctor had emerged from. Sam moved to follow, but stopped when a hand blocked him. "I'm sorry but we can't allow visitors at this time." With that he turned his attention back to John. "We'll keep you updated on your son's condition."_

 _"Thank you." The doctor turned and disappeared behind the same door Dean had been rushed out through._

 _"This isn't fair," Sam huffed turning to face his father._

 _"Relax Sam."_

 _"Hospitals make Dean nervous, why can't we go in?"_

 _"They need to work. We'd only been in their way which could be trouble for Dean." John's youngest shook his head and threw himself into one of the chairs in the waiting room, while John went to the front desk to fill out the medical forms. It was times like these that he wished they could have regular insurance and not have to use some fraudulent medical card. It wasn't ideal, but whatever it took to keep his boys alive._

 _It was a couple of hours before anyone came out to address the Winchesters again. But finally, the door opened and Dr. Rydell entered. Sam jumped from his seat and John walked over to speak with him._

 _"If you would step into the back with me Mr. Bockenstien."_

 _"Can we see my brother?" Sam asked eagerly._

 _"Almost," the doctor replied. He led them back to an empty room and closed the door. The youngest Winchester could feel his heart pounding as he stood waiting for an update._

 _"Mr. Bockenstien, your son Dean does appear to be having a bad allergic reaction. He has a temperature of 101 and his heart rate is a bit higher than I'm comfortable with. He's putting up a good front, but I'm certain he's in more pain then he' letting on. Furthermore, I am a little concerned with your son's condition. He's showing symptoms similar to Guillian-Barre syndrome, GBS for short. It's extremely rare, one in one hundred thousand people get it. It's treatable and luckily you brought him in early enough that if it is GBS, we should be able to help. This disorder causes the body's immune system to attack part of the nerve system and the first sign of it is weakness in the limbs." The doctor turned to face Sam who's eyes had grown wide at the news. "When did you say your brother's weakness started?" Sam was suddenly happy that his brother wasn't currently in the same room with them. If he had heard the doctor refer to him as "weak," there most certainly would have been a verbal explosion and had his arms worked better, more than likely a physical one._

 _"I-it uh," Sam stuttered, still trying to process everything. "A-after we got our shot on Mon-Monday."_

 _"So about three days ago?" He nodded. "The chances of him having this as I said are very very rare, but I would like to run a few tests just to be certain."_

 _"Of course. You said there were treatments?" John cut in._

 _"Yes, but there's no pill or antibiotic I can give him and send him off with. Now the good news is that he's in good enough shape that he doesn't need any machines to keep him going currently, which gives me hope that this isn't GBS. Now as far treatment goes, I don't want startle you with any of that until I know more and unless it actually is needed. Of course that being said, we're going to need to keep Dean in extensive care overnight. We'll call you when we know more and update you on your son's status, and again, we aren't even certain that he has GBS. It could just be a strong negative reaction and nothing more, which as long as his symptoms don't get any worse, is probably the case. However, better safe than sorry."_

 _"Thank you."_

 _"Can I see him?" Sam blurted out. The doctor nodded and showed them out and into the room they had Dean in. The older teen was sitting propped up with his arms to his side and his eyes glued to the ceiling, until he heard his family approach. Immediately, John's eldest tried to straighten up the best he could in his bed._

 _"Dad, Sam. Did they give the ok for me to go now?" He asked anxiously. Sam looked away, unable to meet his brother's eyes._

 _"No son, you're not going anywhere today."_

 _"What?"_

 _John explained to his eldest what the doctors had said to him and Sam watched as Dean's face morphed from the closest thing to fear he would allow within proximity of their father, to anger._

 _"That stupid flu shot did this to me?" He asked with his teeth bared. "People get shots all the time, hell, Sam got one too. Why me?"_

 _"I don't know. It's very rare that people have such a bad reaction to them."_

 _"Can't they just pump me full of pills?"_

 _"It's not that easy son. You're going to have to stay here. The doctor is going to run some tests and make sure it isn't GBS or something more serious and we'll see what happens from there."_

 _"More shots? I mean isn't that what got me here in the first damn place?!"_

 _"Calm down Dean, there's no sense in getting worked up about it. We don't know what kind of tests they're running yet. There's nothing we can do but wait. That being said, we've gotta go. Come on Sam." The younger son who up until this point had been silently watching his brother, snapped his attention to his father._

 _"What?" The brothers said in unison._

 _"A few towns over, there's a haunting that needs taking care of."_

 _"What? No! I'm staying with Dean."_

 _"Sam I don't have time for this," John sighed. "I'm already running later then I'd like."_

 _"I'm sorry, is Dean's well being getting in the way of your hunt?" The younger teen retorted._

 _"Hey! Watch it!"_

 _"I can go Dad, I can help," Dean insisted._

 _"No."_

 _"But Dad-"_

 _"Dean I'm not going to argue with you about this. You can barely walk, and your arms are no better use. You can't even hold a pen in your hand without your arm hurting, let alone a gun. People's lives are at risk here."_

 _"I'm not weak!" Sam looked from his brother to his father. Dean never raised his voice at John. "Please, Dad," he said bringing it down low apologetically. "Please don't leave me to lay here useless." The younger teen looked up at his big brother with his own eyes beginning to water._

 _"I'm sorry son, you're staying here until you're back to normal."_

 _"So what? You're just going to leave me behind like I'm some useless freak?"_

 _"Don't be dramatic Dean. Sam, let's go." Dean's arms may have been too sore to lift much, but he managed to move them and himself up enough to throw his head and arms down on the pillow in frustration and anger. His teeth were bared once again as he stared at his family._

 _"Dean-"_

 _"Sam, now!"_

 _The younger brother didn't move._

 _"Go Sammy," Dean said._

 _"Dean, I-"_

 _"Go."_

 _"You're going to be ok, you're a fighter. You'll kick it in the ass, like you always do."_

 _"SAM!"_

 _When Dean didn't say anything, the younger teen turned and started out of the room. Before he was gone completely, he gave him one last melancholy look. Dean was laying propped up in the bed, with his head turned down and his gaze fixed on the blanket that covered him. A single tear rolled down his cheek._

 _Dean felt bad for having acted the way he did and he could only imagine that the way he felt now, was how his younger sibling must feel every time John orders him to stay behind at the motel while Dean and their father went off on a hunt. The eldest son had never felt more useless then he did sitting in a hospital bed hardly able to move his body while his family was off saving people. All because of one little shot._

OOO

The situation Dean found himself in now, was quite different with only a few common denominators, such as being stabbed with needles, and the look his little brother was giving him now. But that had been his goal. If that freakishly tall brother of his was going to inflict pain of a physical sort by shooting him up repeatedly, then it was only fair he return the favor but in the way demons loved to cause pain the most. Emotionally. By simple saying "Sammy, you know I hate shots," that seemingly harmless jab and fixed stare, would have a lasting effect on him.

Although the injection burned like a son of a bitch, making him feel as though he were drowning in flames, he couldn't help but feel slightly content. Sure the demon was in agony, but it would pass eventually. The damage he had done to Sam, that he knew would eat at him every time he dug a needle into his big brother.

XXX

Sam stood petrified and in shock as Dean roared in pain. It wasn't his first encounter with them, not by a long shot, but that reaction had been unlike anything he had ever encountered with a demon. It was unsettling, but not enough for him to call it quits. He knew how demons liked to say things that would trigger an emotional reaction, especially if it was one that brought on guilt. This may be one of his tricks to get Sam to break down and back down. Well, if that was the plan, it wasn't going to work. Surely he had made his point when his response to the shot had been "i hate demons," followed by a syringe to the creatures arm. Demons talk big, but he couldn't blame him completely. He hadn't even had to say much, just that he hated shots. Then again, it wasn't just demon minion number 32,000, it was his brother.

It had been years since the youngest Winchester had even thought about that horrible event. How helpless Dean had been, how useless he had felt. Worse than that, he had been left alone. Sam and their father had gone off on a hunt and had left him to stay in a hospital to be poked and prodded at. Just the thought of his big brother waking up in a hospital gown in a hospital bed with no one there to help make him feel safe and calm while he lay weak, exposed, and in pain, made Sam's stomach roll and tighten. It was one of his brother's worse fears, to be seen as or rendered weak and vulnerable with no way of helping his family, let alone himself.

But that was then, this is now. Maybe he hadn't been able to be there for Dean all those years ago like he would have liked, like he should have been, but he would be this time. His brother had kicked that allergic reaction illness in the ass twenty years ago, he was going to do the same with this. Dean was stronger then most gave him credit for, including the man himself, and after all signs of black were finally drained from his eyes and he was reunited with the familiar green, family would be the first thing they saw.


	6. More Than Words

**A/n: This was a request given to me by my dear friend miXiZ who requested a one shot that showed Sam getting so angry that he gets physical towards Dean.**

 **It takes place when Sam was 18 and Dean is 22, so no spoilers unless you haven't seen the pilot.**

 **Thank you everyone who reads, reviews, follows, favorites, and /or requests. Thank you LilyBolt, miXiZ, jojospn, and guest for your reviews.**

More Than Words

"That's it, I'm done! I'm God damn sick and tired of this bullshit!" Sam raged as he stuffed a pair of jeans into his backpack with more force then was needed.

"Come on Sam."

"No! I'm not dealing with this shit anymore. I've had it with his stupid orders and stupid selfish dick moves!" The younger brother marched over to the bathroom and snatched up his toothbrush from the counter, knocking over Dean's in the process, and crammed it into his backpack.

"Sam, Dad's doing the best he can."

"Typical," Sam mumbled with an agitated chuckle.

"What?"

He whirled around to face his older sibling with eyes still ablaze.

"Typical. You defending Dad."

"Oh come on," Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"It's true! You just don't see it. All you see is a hero. Someone you want to be just like to a fucking T. Someone to do all your thinking for you because you think he knows all and he knows best." The older brother could feel his own anger starting to boil inside him. "His orders and demands are like a God send to you. But not to me. I'm done. The best part about all this is that this time, it's different."

"You say that about every fight you have with Dad," Dean countered. Sam gave him a content smirk, which took his brother off guard.

"Not this time. This time it really IS different. I'm FINALLY eighteen now, which makes me an adult. I don't have to take orders from him anymore, he can't control me. I don't have to sit around the stupid motel room with my thumbs up my ass and let Dad or you boss me around. I'm free to do whatever I want to do and you guys can't stop me." Dean sighed. When was Sam going to see that what they did, they did to protect him, not smoother him or degrade him?

"And this is what you want, huh? To turn your back on your family?" Dean asked raising his voice.

"God you sound just like him, you know that?" Sam snickered shaking his head. "It has nothing to do with 'turning my back on my family.' Loads of kids leave to go out and become there own person, find their independence, search for themselves or whatever. Why can't you guys just support me on this? Why is it so hard for you to just be happy for me?"

"That's not what this is and you know that," Dean replied keeping his eyes fixed on his brother.

"Oh no, then what is it Dean? I can't leave the family business? I have to want to seek revenge on Mom's death too? You and Dad aren't enough? I have to want what you want? I don't even know Mom. I don't have any memories or recollections or anything other than a name that's suppose to hold some sentimental meaning."

"We're all we've got Sam, with the exception of Bobby, we're it."

Sam waited a few seconds expecting there to be more, but when there wasn't, he spoke up.

"I get that, but we aren't the only family out there like that. We aren't the only guys who have ever lost their mother or their wife. Hell, loads of people have lost their father or their brother or their son too. They still all go about their lives."

"They don't have lives like ours!" Dean shouted. "They don't know what we know and they haven't seen what we've seen!"

"You're right, they don't and they haven't, and they STILL go around and have their own lives. And most of them are better for it. And besides, I know how to take care of myself. I'm not a kid anymore Dean."

Dean nodded and gave a vindictive smile.

"Oh, right. Everyone's better than us, I forgot. Everyone has 'the life' because they're all normal and we're just a bunch of freaks."

"Dean-"

"Well news flash Sam, you're one of us. Sorry to break it to you but no matter where you go or what you do, you're a Winchester. So if we're freaks, than so are you and you can run as far away from us as you want, that won't change who you are."

Dean didn't see his brother's fist coming at him and make contact. All he knew was that he suddenly felt himself stagger back slightly with a fresh pain growing on the right side of his face. He put his fingers to his lip, and when he looked down at them, there was a drop of scarlet. Sam's hands were still balled, and his backpack was now laying on the ground.

"I'm not a freak," he said, his voice was dangerously low and shook with anger. "And I am NOTHING like Dad or you." Dean wiped at his lip again still shocked at the physical outburst. Sam got into yelling matches all the time, mostly with their Dad but sometimes with him too. But he hadn't actually hit them, although there were some objects that saw his wrath from time to time.

After a few more seconds of Sam staring down his sibling, still holding himself in a manner that showed he was ready to deliver another blow if necessary, he unclinched his fists, snatched up his backpack, and continued to shove his belongings inside. Once he had everything, he headed for the motel door.

"You're a hypocrite, you know that?" Dean said just as his brother reached for the door knob. Sam spun around to look at Dean once again. Warning him with his hazel glare that he was listening."You talk a big talk about how Dad is selfish, and here you are ready to leave us. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," he said with a nod. At first he thought he was about to go round two, and this time, he would be ready for the swing. Instead Sam just shook his head, turned back around, and disappeared through the front door. Dean stared after him, fighting internally rather he should run after Sam and try to make amends and get him to stay like he wanted, or let him actually leave them behind like Sam wanted.

XXX

Dean spent the rest of the day searching for his little brother. He looked in all the places Sam would be and all the places he would never be and every time, he came up empty. When night fell and still there was no sign of the teen, Dean took the Impala back to the motel room. His best guess was that Sam had taken the closet and first bus out of town to god knows where. If he had just kept his mouth shut, maybe things could have gone differently. If he had just let Sam go, maybe he would at least think about calling Dean and letting him know he was alright. But it hadn't ended well and he knew that any chance of him being kept in the know that his little brother and responsibility, was alright, was now gone. John was going to be angry, no doubt about that. Dean was suppose to watch out for Sam, keep him safe, and all he had done was watch him walk out the door. But John's anger was nothing compared to the knot that was growing inside Dean. Sam may have started off angry at their father, but ultimately it was his fault that his little brother left. Sam was right, he should have showed support, at least he would have had Sam on his side.

Dean climbed out of the Impala and headed back the room feeling exhausted in every way possible. The motel was just as empty as it had been when he left it hours ago when he entered. He didn't even bother to turn on the lights as he moseyed over to the mini fridge, and grabbed himself a Del Sol. Dean popped off the lid and chugged a bit of the beer before pulling it back and holding it at his side. As he stared at the wall, he felt something run down his cheek. He hadn't even noticed he had had a tear until then. He wiped at his face and then continued to stare down the poorly chosen wallpaper.

Just as he moved to take another chug of his beer, he heard what sounded like a key at the door.

Time to face the music. Dean turned his attention ready for his father to come in and give him a piece of his mind when he learned that Sam was gone. He did one last sweep of his hand over his face to make sure there was no evidence that he had cried, then stood his ground.

The door slowly opened and the light clicked on revealing the last person Dean thought he'd see. His eyes widened in surprise as they fell on his little brother. His backpack was thrown over one shoulder and hung more or less forgotten. His posture and eyes were telling a whole different story than they had earlier as the teen stood with a look of embarrassment on his face. Neither brother spoke or moved for what seemed like hours. Both staring at the other as if in doing so they were taking in the emotional status of the other.

Sam pushed off the strap from his backpack that had been hanging onto him, letting it fall carelessly to the floor, and made a B line for Dean. The older brother watched him wearily as he drew closer. Then without warning, Sam threw his arms around him. It took only a second for the young man to process what was happening and reciprocate the gesture. They stood like that for several seconds more before the older sibling pulled away and patted Sam on the shoulder. The younger brother smiled as tears began to build in his eyes. Dean went to the mini fridge, grabbed a new bottle, popped it open, and handed it to Sam. The teen's smile widened and he chuckled as he took the beer, clinked bottle necks with his brother, and chugged it back.


	7. Don't Piss Off the Freak Winchester

**A/n: This story takes place in season 4 episode "I Know What You Did Last Summer." So spoilers for that as well as season 3 finale.**

 **Language warning!**

 **This is a POV from the demon Sam had summoned after Dean died.**

 **I don't ownSPN or any of its characters.**

Don't Piss Off the Freak Winchester

I didn't know just how short of a stick I had drawn, until I was standing off to the side of the crossroads glaring over at the intoxicated raging bull who also happened to be the youngest of the infamous Winchesters. It was impossible not to smirk at the sight before me. The parents were out of town and the kid had definitely gotten into the liquor cabinet, if you follow what I'm saying. His eyes were puffy with dark purple bags under them that really brought out the bloodshot red.

I watched as the young buck flung a now empty bottle of Bourbon, that had only seconds ago been glued to his lips, at nothing in particular shouting loud enough to wake the dead. I had been kept in the loop of what was going on with the notorious brothers who had made themselves a Hell hold name. They were the talk around the water cooler. It was always "Sam Winchester this" or "Dean Winchester that." I'm fucking sick of it. Who cares if Sam was Azazel's favorite of the demon children? Why make these losers so much bigger and badder than the rest? I thought I'd never hear the end of it.

Then Azazel was killed by none other than who? Oh yeah, Dean fucking Winchester, shocker. I always did think old yellow eyes had a screw or ten loose. Maybe if he hadn't been so obsessed with the youngest Winchester, or any of them for that matter, he wouldn't be dead. I mean, it was only a matter of time. I heard that the older one, Dean, had a real hard on for protecting his family, especially his fucked up little brother. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

But now, brother dearest was roasting on an open fire with Alistair for company and his freak of a sibling was summoning one of us. Lucky fucking me, my name was pulled from the proverbial hat. But whatever the boss wanted, I served him and him only.

I admit it was satisfying to see a Winchester all broken up and desperate. I'd heard about it of course when Dean had shown up looking to bring back Thing 2. But unless you see it for yourself, you don't get that high. It's like being a kid on Christmas morning with a shit ton of presents just waiting to be torn into. Watching him when he had been kicking dirt over the box he had buried in order to summon me, had actually been really amusing. He had looked like a drugged up three legged dog trying to bury a bone.

"I was wondering whether to come or not," I finally call out, directing his attention to the spot I've been watching from. He whirls around with fire in his eyes, but I stand my ground. "I mean, you shot one of my co-workers." I slide the kid a snarky grin to let him know how entertaining I find all this as he makes a B-line for me. His walk needed some work, but his eyes...if looks could kill. Unfortunately for him, they can't. "Don't take this the wrong way Sam but you don't look so hot buddy," I grow serious now as he approaches and I taunt. "I guess burying your brother didn't agree with you." The drunken mess stops and sways a bit unstable, throwing his arms out in what he thinks is an intimidating 'here I am' and what I think is a good way to land himself on the ground. He's really not in any position to be moving around, or talking, but he insists on both.

"Well."

"Well let's see that special knife of yours." That bitch Ruby was really causing waves here. Clawing her way out and running off was one thing, but aiding the Winchesters and supplying a weapon that could finish us off to those grudge holding sacks of meat, that demon whore was going to pay. The freak pulls out the knife I had been referring to and slams it down on the surface he had stopped in front of.

"No Devil's traps either. I'm not here to play games." The raging bull's eyes are evidence of that. I take his word as a means of it being safe for me to approach him, so I do.

"Well let me guess...You wanna make a deal." It wasn't a question, it was a way of showing him that I wasn't an idiot, but he was. "And around and around the Winchesters go. Sorry Sam, that's not going to happen." It gives me pleasure to be the one that gets to tell this spoiled little shit 'no.' A word he likely doesn't hear often. When does the special treatment end for this guy? First Azazel, now Lucifer. But at least the latter of them knows what he's doing, that's more than I can say for the former. Sam nods his head and for a second, I think maybe the Princess will just go cry himself a river maybe build a bridge and get over it. But that thought is shot when I feel a burning pain unlike anything I've ever felt before. Where the fuck did that bitch get this thing? More importantly, how in the hell did I fall for that? Like you can ever trust a Winchester.

"I don't want ten years. I don't want one year. I don't want candy, I want to trade places with Dean." This guy came looking for a clean cut deal, too bad he wasn't getting one. We don't always aim to please, despite what we crossroad demons do.

"No," I reply simply, as though he doesn't have a demon killing knife through one hand like some kind of fucking shish kabob while pinning down my other with a surprisingly tight grip for a plastered distraught guy.

"Just take me! It's a fair trade!" He roars.

"No!" Honestly I don't know what anyone sees in this guy, he's got the strangest mood swings. One minute he's screaming at me, the next he looks like someone punted his puppy into the next State over. He's worse than a fucking crazy woman on her menstrual cycle. His voice lowers and is a bit slurred, but I read him loud and clear.

"Why not? Lilith wants me dead, just let Dean go and she can have me." Oh my Lucifer this kid was a whiny son of a bitch, dramatic too. Something wasn't right with these Winchesters and how far they were willing to go for the sake of one another. It was warped and frankly, it was creepy. And wasn't Azazel and Lucifer's superstar suppose to be the smart one? I chuckle despite my less than humorous situation at the pure lack of comprehension this kid has. Stanford? Really? A lawyer? You've gotta be shiting me.

"Don't you understand Sam? It's not about your soul," I spell it out for him. "Dean's in Hell, right where we want him. We've got everything exactly the way we want it." My confidence and faith in my master shines through the pain and even though I know what awaits me the moment I finish my sentence, I know that I did right by him. The doe eyed dumb slack jawed look on the Winchester freak's face is all the evidence I need to ensure all this. If only I had a camera, because I knew it wasn't going to last long. "You wanna kill me, go ahead! I've made peace with my Lord." The mental mind shot I get of the freak is the last thing I see, well, before that look turns into rage and the knife is removed from my hand just to be slashed across my throat. Whatever kid, you think things are bad now, just wait till the Dark Lord rises. And he will.


	8. If There Ain't No You

**A/n: So I personally really liked last week's episode "Red Meat," a lot. It was sad, intense, and just all around (in my opinion) well done. So I decided to do a Dean's POV within it. It's pretty short, but it kept nagging at me to get done and since I got myself a nice little concussion, I haven't really been in any position to write. So finally here it goes, hopefully it's decent.**

 **WARNING: Spoiler alert for "Red Meat," and also a hint of suicide.**

 **Thank you all who follow, read, review, and/or favorite. Also, I know I still have that one request that was given to me by Ruby(Guest), I haven't forgotten, just haven't figured out quite yet what to do. Requests are welcomed, I love them, but I do ask you be patient since I do have an AU and a collection of Sam POVs that I'm working on as well. But if you do request (no ships please), I promise I will write and post it.**

If There Ain't No You

I know she means well, but when I hear her apologize, I just want to tell he to stick it where the sun don't shine. Because even with a "nasty concussion," I remember with great clarity what she's sorry about and there's no condolences that can ever 'make this better.' There's nothing that can or will.

We saved them. Sam and me, we saved the woman who now stood by my hospital bed with large watering blue eyes and a stitched up scratch on her face and that shifty husband of hers. But as usual, it came with a price. A big one.

Saving people doesn't come free, at least that's the verdict as of late. So while she and her husband are alive and have each other, my life is laying dead on the floor of some fucking back woods cabin with a bullet wound. How's that for a fucking thank you? I don't need to be standing there to see it, it's the only thing I can think about and for the life of me, I can't understand. When I left Sam with those two to find wood to make a makeshift litter he was still sucking air, and although it was through clenched teeth, he was still pushing it out too. His skin and clothes were decorated with angry red, but I had extracted the bullet. Sammy's tough, he was going to make it. He's been through so much worse, including literal Hell, there's no way something so stupid as a fucking bullet was going to end my brother. But when I returned to them, he had gone from being propped up with his back against a counter and groaning in pain, to laying motionless and silent on the floor.

My mind raced. There was so much I could have done to prevent this, to keep Sammy alive and unharmed. I should've killed that werewolf motherfucker before he had a God damn chance to even think about reaching for the gun. I should have stepped out and blocked Sam from the bullet. Hell, I never should have agreed to go out on this case in the first place. We should still be in the Bunker up to our ears in books and papers and the internet, trying to find out anything we can on Amara or figuring out how to save Cas. At least then he'd still be fine, leave it to Sammy to want to help others. Not that I don't, but in all honesty, I thought we had bigger fish to fry then looking for some missing people. Any hunter could have done that.

Back when this whole Amara thing started, Sam told me that we had somehow along the way forgotten the first half of what we do. We hunt things, sure, all the damn time. But saving people? I would argue we still do, but the way he sees it, he and I were ok with letting innocent bystanders die if it meant saving each other. I had stopped him from shutting the Gates of Hell because it certainly wasn't worth him sacrificing himself for it. Despite me telling Sam to leave the Mark of Cain alone, he still found a way to remove it from me. And because of those choices, because we chose to save each other's asses, the world is paying. As I said, saving lives, no matter who's, ain't free.

Sam can tell me a million times and he can be as pissed at me and bitch at me or hate me all he wants, but that will never change. Not with me. What it all boils down to is plain and simple and can't get any easier to understand then this; I can't do this without my brother. I don't want to. I don't have to. And I won't.

"Well my mom use to say um...I didn't believe her then but I think I do now. But she use to say, death...it's not the end."

My eyes meet Michelle's and I know exactly what I have to do, it's the same thing I've done before. The same thing I will always do when it comes to my little brother, I'm going to get him back. I don't care what it takes, I'm going to save Sammy. The world needs him. He's the one that's going to be the big hero and stop Amara. My brother, the world's savior.

I make my way through the hospital and find where they stash their "keep out of reach of children/ suicidal patience" medicine. With a handful of pills ready to be downed, I explain to the wife what she needs to do in order to bring me back, but also make sure she understands that if they can't help me pull a Houdini and escape death, that's good too. Because the world isn't the only one who needs my brother. Without Sam, there's no me.

 **A/n: Thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave any reviews/thoughts and/or requests.**


	9. Are You There Bobby, It's Me Sam?

**A/n: This one shot takes place after 7x13 "The Slice Girls." SPOILER ALERT for season 7**

 **Thank you to anyone who reads, reviews, requests, follows, and/or favorites.**

 **For those who have requested for me, I still have them tucked away so I promise I will get to them once I have an idea on how to go about it. Special thanks to gishwhesgirl 42, miXiZ, LilyBolt, rivermoon 1487, and jojospn for your recent reviews and request.**

Are You There Bobby, It's Me Sam?

The moment the rumble of the Impala disappeared, I knew what I had to do.

Dean had been so adamant about his beer being finished and it not being his doing, that honestly it freaked me out to see him so freaked out. Part of me wanted my brother to be involved with this, but the smarter part of me knew that my decision to get him out of the cabin and do it alone was a far better idea. I had only done this once before, and it had been my brother that I was trying to reach from the other side. If he could come through having been in a comatose state, then certainly it would work for an actual spirit. Even more to the point, if anyone would come through and put my mind at ease, it would be Bobby Singer.

I pulled out the talking board from where I had stashed it, and laid it out and open on my bed. I sat with my legs crossed, my back straight and proper, and the fingertips of my right hand placed on the talking piece. I took a deep breath in, closed my eyes, and exhaled a few times before I finally spoke as clearly as I could.

"Bobby Singer, are you here?" I sat waiting in the silence for a response. When nothing happened, I cleared my throat and tried again. "Robert Singer are you here?" More silence and more nothing. I opened my eyes and sighed. "Screw this," I mumbled before clearing my throat again. "Bobby if you can hear me, it's Sam. Dean thinks that you may be around. Life isn't going to be same without you Bobby, and I don't just mean hunting...You may not have been a Winchester by blood, but you certainly were one in our eyes." I felt moisture on my cheeks as I sat staring ahead of me. "You were like a father to my brother and me and don't tell Dean, but I think you were better at it then Dad was. I remember all the times you'd be at home working away at some case for some hunter and we'd show up on your doorstep with our bags, exhausted. Without even a huff or a question, you'd drop everything and make Dean and I something to eat. Because you knew my brother's cooking limitations and were mortified by the "inventions" he would create for me. Or sometimes, we wouldn't have had much to eat at all if Dad had been gone for longer than he had planned. While we ate, you'd work and then when we were done, you'd take us out to play some ball. You know, treat us like we weren't sons of a hunter or freaks, just normal boys." I smiled at the memory. "Bobby you-you were the first person I confided in about college. I was nervous and excited and unsure. But do you remember what you said to me? You said 'son, you've gotta do what you think's best for you. John may be angry and your brother will be heartbroken, but if you don't do what makes you happy, you can't expect to make either of those idjits happy.' Words of wisdom. That's what helped to motivate my final decision. I don't remember if I got to thank you for that and I don't feel like I've really been able to thank you for everything you've done for us Winchesters, including Dad." I stopped again and sniffed. I couldn't stop the tears now, not even if I tried, but I also knew I didn't need to.

There was no one here that I needed to be strong for at the moment, and it was at that moment that I realized that I hadn't actually been able to just sit and have myself a good cry since his passing. With shoulders heaving and my head now bowed down, I allowed myself to mourn.

As much as part of me wished I hadn't checked up on my brother's theory, it also had given me closure that I didn't realize I needed. That's what funerals are for right? Closure? To say your last goodbyes and let out all the things you hadn't before. But Dean and I didn't have that kind of funeral. It was always us staring into the flames in strong silence as they engulfed our loved one. It was our way of showing our respect, our comradery. I don't know that Dean could handle them any other way. It wasn't like he would open up and spill out his emotions willingly. I'm pretty sure my chances at winning the lottery were better. But that struck up a whole other problem. Dean. He had been on a downwards slope since Cas died and this whole thing with the Leviathans was kicking our asses, and now this.

I'm almost certain that at some point, Bobby managed to corner my bottled up brother and give him a good man to man talk. Because Dean wouldn't let it be any other way. "You know Dean, the only chance you get to see him get really deep into his thoughts, feelings, and emotions, is when you're dead and he's alone. So basically never. And I only know that because I uh...I heard him a couple nights ago. He thought I was sleeping and I uh..." I licked my lips nervously. "But you should know. You were with us that night at Cold Oak. I Can't even began to fathom what he was like when it had been me who was gone. But at least you had been there for him. Just like you had been there for me after-" I choked on my own words. I wasn't going to go down that memory lane, just the thought made my stomach turn as the image of my brother laying a gory lifeless mess on floor came back to me with crystal clarity.

"Dean's worried about me, which, what's new? But I see the way he looks at me, like he's just waiting for me to snap or like I'm a ticking time bomb that he can't figure out how to defuse...I'm not going to lie, it's not good. I'm not good. But I'm really trying. I'm using that trick Dean taught me and it works. Most of the time anyways." I stopped as my eyes blurred once again. I kept my fingertips firmly on the talking piece and swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. "I need you Bobby. Dean needs you. So please, I'm begging you, if you're here with us, let me know."

My eyes were fixed on the planchette, hoping that I had been wrong this whole time and I would see my fingers glide across the board and the circle cut in the center of the talking piece would engulf the word YES. I sat for, I don't know how long it was, before slowly allowing my fingers to fall from the planchette. I let out a puff of defeat and disappoint at the outcome. I hadn't wanted to be right. It was one of the only times I had prayed that Dean wasn't wrong. I wasn't ready to face the world without Bobby. We weren't ready. I don't even think the world was ready for this.

I heard a familiar rumbling quickly approaching and I shot up, hastily stuffing the board back into its box and returning it to its hiding place. I swept a hand over my face to clear any evidence that I had been crying and rushed to the living room where I clicked on the tv just as I heard the key turn in the door. I threw an arm carelessly over the back of the couch and turned to acknowledge his return with a casual nod of my head and as nonchalantly as I could I asked, "what took you so look? You brew it yourself?" Dean cocked his head to the side, a twelve pack of El Sol in one hand and a brown bag in the other. "What?" I asked screwing up my face.

"You been cryin?" He questioned. I don't know how he does it. Either he's just that good or I didn't have a good enough poker face at the time.

"What?" I responded, my voice betraying me by upping an octave, "no." His attention shot to the television.

"I remember this episode. Dr. Piccolo couldn't save that little boy who got hit by the car chasing after his loose dog." He brought his gaze back to me with a smile in place. I stuttered at a loss for words as I realized what I had switched the tv onto. "It's alright Samantha, I'll only hold this over you for a couple of years." He teased with a wink, placing the beer on the table and getting to work on unloading the brown paper bag.

I scoffed. "You're one to talk. Who here is the Dr. Sexy MD junkie? Do I even want to know how you know what episode this is?" I shot back raising my eyebrow as my mouth slid into a playful smirk of my own.

"Less yappin more unpackin," he retorted. I chuckled and obliged, getting up to help him. If Dean wanted to tease me because he thought I was crying over an episode of some stupid drama show, let him. Because having him believe I had gotten misty eyed over something as stupid as a fake death of a fake boy, was better than him knowing that I had been mourning the loss of the man who we saw as a father figure and reminding him of the most recent of our seemingly ever growing list of losses.

 **A/n: Thank you for reading!**

 **Rivermoon 1487: I still have all you requests, I'm just trying to figure out which one to start with and how to go about them. I'm hoping my next update will be one of them for you.**

 **Gishwhesgirl 42: I'm glad you enjoyed my story, sorry about the sad lol. I'm so excited that you thought I got into his head pretty well. Thank you for your beautiful review!**


	10. It's Just A Flesh Wound

**A/n: This was a request given to me by Rivermoon1487 who asked "Have you seen the tumblr post where Dean is out on a hunting trip with his dad, and he finds out that he is bait? That would be a cool one to read." I was able to hunt down that post and have now seen it. I used it to help me write this request and this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy it.**

 **Rivermoon1487, I still have your other requests as well and I hope to be able to work on them in the near future. Same for you LilyBolt, I haven't forgotten your funny little request either.**

 **Thank you everyone who reads, reviews, requests, follows, and/or favorites this collection of stories. Thank you jojospn, LilyBolt, and Guest for your recent reviews on the last story.**

 **Language warning.**

 **This takes place when Dean is 17 and Sam is 13, so no spoilers this time.**

It's Just A Flesh Wound

"Come on Dean, pick up the pace," John barked not bothering to turn around as he marched through the heavily wooded forest. Dean didn't respond, only obeyed as he forced his aching feet to push forward at a quicker speed. No matter how tired or how sore he was, he wouldn't say a word about either to his father.

They had been hiking around the woods for a good at least 3 hours or so, stopping to break only for a few seconds before treading on. Meanwhile, while they did the leg work, Sam had been left yet again to stay behind at their current motel room. The youngest Winchester had thrown a fit and insisted "it wasn't fair" as he always did. As usual, John hadn't been swayed.

 _XXX_

 _"I've gone on hunts before, I've even killed a werewolf, well, I mean I helped. Why can't I go with you?" Sam argued as Dean packed his bag for the hunt._

 _John Winchester sighed, "you aren't ready for this Sam, it's too dangerous."_

 _"But it's not for Dean?" The thirteen year old countered._

 _"Dean's seventeen, you're barely a teenager."_

 _"So? Dean wasn't even a teenager when he was going on hunts with you. I can help Dad."_

 _John Winchester rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers and sighed. "Sam, I'm not having this fight with you. Dean and I will be back, you stay in this room with the door locked. Do you understand me?" Sam's eyes moved to meet his big brother's who gave a curt nod which the younger son returned with a huff._

 _"Yes sir," he mumbled._

 _"We shouldn't be long, you know the drill."_

 _"Yes sir."_

 _"Dean, let's roll," John barked heading towards the door. His eldest zipped up his now packed bag and turned to face his little brother. Sam's arms were crossed over his chest as he stood next to him._

 _"See you in a bit Sammy, take care of yourself," then to try and lighten up the younger boy's mood he added, "don't do anything I wouldn't do while I'm gone."_

 _"There's nothing you wouldn't do," he retorted with an eye roll. Dean ruffled Sam's hair, resulting in the boy pushing his sibling's arm away from him and snapping at the gesture, before the eldest followed their father out the door._

 _XXX_

John came to a sudden halt causing Dean to almost stumble into him. Without saying a word, he motioned for his son to be quiet, placing a finger to his lips. Dean obeyed and squinted over at him puzzled. They stood in the silence for a bit longer before either of them spoke again.

"Alright," the father whispered to his eldest, "stay here." Dean nodded to signal him that he understood and John crept away down through the trees and out of sight. The seventeen year old stood his ground as he was told, only pivoting his foot or twisting himself at the torso to peer around. As he stood there he realized what his father had been trying to bring to his attention. The silence was eerie. Deafening. Not a bird nor even a fly could be heard. The teen gulped back an uneasy feeling that had grown from the pit of his stomach to a tight feeling in his chest.

His father had told him they were hunting a werewolf, which had seemed odd to Dean due to the lack of moon.

"This is a pure bred, they turn whenever they damn well feel like it," John had informed.

But even if that were true, and the eldest son never questioned his father, something didn't seem right.

A good ten minutes went by and John still hadn't returned. With every minute of his absence, the knot in Dean's chest grew tighter and tighter. He wouldn't say he was scared, he was never scared of a hunt, however he was bothered. Now getting ansy, the teen began to creep over towards the direction his father had gone. However, before he got a chance to move much, he heard a noise somewhere in the woods. His head snapped in the direction of the sound and he felt his heartbeat quicken.

"Dad?" He called out. It sounded again, and this time, it wasn't recognized by any noise a human made nor did it sound like a werewolf. Slowly Dean pulled out his handgun loaded with silver bullets and aimed it towards where the noise was coming from, keeping his eyes like a hawk for any signs of movement. He tried to keep his breathing and hands steady as panic started to claim him at the thought that something terrible had happened to his dad and he was now left alone to fight whatever it was. Or maybe it was something else entirely that concerned him about all this.

Everything happened so fast. Dean started to run, but was knocked to the ground by something solid smashing into him which in turn hit him so hard, that the gun was thrown from his grasp. He landed with a thud on the dirt below and narrowly missed colliding his skull with a tree. Dean fell onto his back and managed to land wrong on his foot, twisting his ankle. He hissed in pain but kept his attention on his surroundings. His eyes fell on his firearms and he rolled over onto his stomach and began to crawl on his hands and knees to retrieve it. The thing sounded again and he managed to snatch up his handgun just in time to turn around and come face to face with the source of noise, it's eyes peered down at him. It definitely wasn't any werewolf Dean had ever seen. It was pale, nude, thin, and tall. Something that would be sure to haunt the nightmares of anyone who sees it.

John's eldest squeezed the trigger and fired two shots into the thing's chest. It let out a high pitch screech and grabbed Dean by the arm, hauling him off the ground. His green eyes grew wide in horror as he was raised up to the creatures eye level. It snarled at him and the next thing the teen knew, he felt a burning sensation as though multiple dangers were being dug into his side. He let out a scream and tried to throw a punch aimed at its head with his free arm, but before it could connect with any part of the monster, it flung him away. There was a sickening pop and the teen screamed again. Landing in the dirt once more, Dean hissed and cradled what was certain to be a dislocated shoulder. With the thing making its way back towards him, all he could do was use the heel of his good foot to scoot himself backwards. Dean hadn't managed to make it far before his back hit a tree. He stared up at the thing, breaths coming in short and heavy, eyes wide as he waited for the inevitable.

There was another screech and Dean could feel unexpected heat. The creature went up in flames, causing the teen to try and shield his eyes from the bright hot light with his good arm. The horrid noise stopped and he slowly uncovered his face to look down at a chard corpse now laying on the ground before him where the thing had been, and then up at his father who was standing over the remains with a homemade flamethrower in one hand and a lighter in the other. He quickly tucked the latter in his pocket and approached Dean.

"Dean, are you ok?" He asked as his eyes examined him. With the monster dead, the teen could feel the full affects of what it had done to him.

"'M fine," he mumbled.

"Come on, let's get you up and taken care of." John bent down and as carefully as he could, helped Dean up to his feet. The teen hissed as his twisted ankle touched the ground and instantly retracted it.

"Dad, where were you?" He questioned as they started off back to the Impala.

"I was scouting the area where I thought the thing was." Something about the way he said it made Dean feel slightly unsure.

"It wasn't a werewolf," the teen reported.

"I know."

"What was it Dad?" The boy's eyes fell on his father as he limped.

"A wendigo."

"A wendigo?" Dean echoed turning his attention back to where he was going.

"It started with the Native Americans. They were once humans who turned to cannibalism which then turned them into what you saw. They're fast, strong, and clever. The only thing that seems to do the trick when it comes to killing the bastards, is fire." Dean wanted to question his father further but he knew that the inquires he had were the kind that might set him off, or worse, he would answer and it wouldn't be the response that would put his mind at ease.

The rest of the walk back was silent with the exception of the occasional hissing through his teeth. Once the Impala finally came into sight, John quickened his pace, in turn making Dean do the same. He fumbled around in his pocket for the keys and got to work on unlocking the door and setting his eldest in the passenger side.

"Alright, hold on son," John replied marching around to the back of the vehicle. Dean waited for a few seconds as his father rummaged through the trunk and add in the flamethrower. A loud cuss and the slamming of the car made him squirm uncomfortably.

"What is it Dad?" His eyes were wide as he looked over at his father who had climbed into the driver's side and slammed that door shut as well.

"The med kit is missing from the car. It better be at the fucking motel." John slapped the palm of hand on the steering wheel and cussed again. He turned to look in the back seat and found a rag laying on the floor. Here," he reached back to pick it up, handing it to his son. "Put pressure on that wound," Dean obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut as the scratchy cloth touched his injury. Wasting no time, John pressed down on the gas pedal with force and sped off back to the motel. They weren't in the car long before the teen's eyes began to flutter and his head lolled to the side. "Dean? Dean? Hey! You need to stay awake. Hold on."

XXX

"Finally, what took you guys so-Dean?" The youngest son stood staring at his too pale brother who had been leaning heavily on John. His left hand was clamped to his right side which Sam noticed was stained with what could only be blood. Despite his brother looking like a creature feature victim, the corners of his lips slid upward and a smile touched his jaded green eyes.

"Hey Sammy."

"Oh my God, Dean. Are you alright? What happened?"

"Sam, go get the med kit," John ordered as he slowly walked his eldest son towards the bathroom.

"It's in the Impala," Sam replied. "Why didn't you fix him up earlier? How long has he been like this?" John spun around to address his youngest, causing Dean to let out a groan in pain at the rapid sudden movement. Sam cringed.

"Its not in the car, I already checked. You think I would leave your brother in this condition if I had had access to it?" He snapped. Realization clicked in and before his youngest could retort he added, "do you mean to tell me you two left the kit at that motel in Denver after that haunting? I only had the one."

"No I'm telling you it's in the Impala. I stashed it under the seat after the hunt in Denver," Sam informed. John dug around his jacket pocket and tossed his youngest the keys to the car.

"You better hope so. Next time, put it back where it belongs," he responded. The thirteen year old opened his mouth but a glance at Dean made him decide against saying whatever he was going to say and instead bolted out the front door. John continued to move his eldest into the bathroom where he lowered him to sit on the toilet seat, murmuring an apology as Dean let out another sound of pain.

Sam returned with the kit like he had mentioned and John got to work on cleaning Dean's wounds, starting by stitching up the claw marks. All the while, his youngest peered over their father's shoulder.

"Sam, go wait outside in the living room. I can't work with you hovering over me."

"Let me do it Dad," he replied. It wasn't that John wasn't good at stitching up his boys after a nasty run in with a monster, but with John clearly in an agitated mood, he feared that their father wasn't being as tender with his sibling as he would have liked.

"God damn it Sam, out!"

"It's ok Sammy," Dean coaxed in a gentle voice. Sam didn't like it, but he turned and headed back into the living room where he waited for their father to finish fixing up his brother. He watched from his spot on the couch as John finished up the stitches then had Dean get up so that he could address his dislocated arm. The eldest griped the sink with both hands and Sam could see his eyes were squeezed shut.

"Alright Dean, on the count of three. One...two..." there was a popping sound and Dean let out a small yell. The youngest noticed however that his brother had quickly tried to silence himself, clearly trying to prove to their father that he was able to take the pain.

Now completed, John clapped a hand on Dean's good shoulder and grinned. "You good?" He asked his eldest. Dean nodded but Sam could see his brother was still hurting and not what he would deem as "good" at all.

"Yes sir, I'm good."

John's smile widened, "that's my boy. Now, go get some rest. I'll go get you some ice." As John exited the motel with the ice bucket in hand, Sam popped up from the couch to lend a hand to Dean who had started slowly towards the bed.

"I got it Sam," he replied. But Sam insisted anyways, wrapping his brother's arm around his shoulder, he helped guide him to the mattress. Once he was seated and certain he wasn't in danger of ripping his stitches, Sam let go.

"Dean, what happened out there?"

Dean didn't answer right away.

He had gone on a werewolf hunt with John, only it hadn't been a werewolf. His father had told him to stay there while he wandered off into the forest. Dean remembered starting to worry something terrible had happened to him and then he remembered the noise. Shortly after is when everything went sideways.

He was attacked and the silver bullets had done nothing but piss it off. Then their father had shown up and burned the damn thing which was a lucky break that he had had a homemade flamethrower on hand. Dean remembered being relieved that their father was alright and of course the painful car ride home. But there was something else that had come to mind. Maybe he couldn't believe it so he told himself otherwise, tried to make up an excuse and block out the truth. His father must have known what they were really hunting from the get go which means John had used him as bait.

"Dean?" The eldest blinked and brought himself back to the motel room where he saw a pair of hazel eyes glued to him waiting for an answer with a look of concern etched on his face. Dean's gaze softened and he gave his little brother a weary smile, trying to keep his eyes from watering at the truth of what had happened. Sam didn't need another reason to argue with their father and besides, John wouldn't have used Dean as bait if he didn't think he could handle it. He would never put him in any REAL danger...right?

"I uh-I messed up on the hunt. I thought it was a werewolf but it turns out it was a wendigo," Dean explained. "Dad he uh-he saved me."

"Did Dad know?" Sam asked the very question Dean had wanted to but hadn't. It was clear to him now what the answer was.

"I don't think so," he lied.

Although he wasn't fully convinced with the explanation he was being given, the younger teen decided to let it be for the time being. Dean needed rest, not drama. "Well I'm glad you're back home safe. Are you going to be alright?"

"Yeah," Dean replied with another smile that he had hoped instilled comfort in his sibling, "of course I'll be alright. It's just a flesh wound Sammy."

 **A/n: I hope you enjoyed this story.**

 **Guest: I'm sorry to make you sad, but you're welcome all the same. Both boys really should be allowed to grieve, I feel bad that they don't. I always look forward to hearing from you. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. You're awesome!**


	11. Wish You Were Here

**a/n: Thank you everyone who reads, reviews, follows, favorites, and/or leaves a request for this collection of stories. A special thank you to LilyBolt, Guest, zekeschance, mckydstarlight, rivermoon 1487 for the review and the request (still working on your other one), and SpKs 15 for all your recent reviews.**

 **SPOILER ALERT for season 11 "Red Meat." This is just an idea that came to me. A look into Sam's head as he lay on the floor of the cabin.**

 **Also WARNING on mention of suicide to an extent.**

Wish You Were Here

"Bout time you woke up. Beer's getting warm."

Sam pushed himself up into sitting position and took in his surroundings with a scowl in place.

The sky was a beautiful blue spotted with white fluffy clouds making the ocean look teal in comparison. The waves moved in and out hypnotically, crawling up the sand before falling back again. All around the towel he found himself laying on, was dull grey gold sand. At arms length sat an open untouched bottle of beer. Sam looked from one end of his location to the other, then back behind him and in front of him again, the wind whipping his hair as he moved. He brought his gaze over to his brother who was sitting next to him with his own stare hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. The look reminded Sam of the time he had tried to get his just cured brother to take some much needed PTO lakeside. Somewhere in the distance, there was a faint call of a foghorn.

"I'm dreaming." It hadn't been a question he supplied to the open space, mainly directed at his brother. Dean simply knocked back the El Sol he had been nursing.

"Of course you're dreaming. Not like we've ever actually been to a beach. Ever. But that don't mean you can't enjoy it while it lasts."Dean's head turned towards his sibling with a smirk on his face. "Sand between your toes Sammy." It took him a couple of seconds, but slowly the younger Winchester stretched one long leg out of the blanket's zone, and rested it cautiously in the sand. "There's no such thing as sand sharks, you're good," the elder brother teases affectionately.

At first Sam wanted to counter that remark with a "no shit." But before he does, a memory pops into his head.

Sam and Dean had seen many places and attractions in their lives on the road. The largest ball of yarn being one that he remembers most and frequently shares with ours. But among the ones they hadn't, was a beach. John never had time to take the boys and Bobby, living in nowhere South Dakota, never had the chance to take them either. Sam had expressed many times in the past wanting to go even for a minute just to see what it felt like. Dean knew that the opportunity they would get for that would likely be when they were adults themselves, if they were lucky. It was a place he had always wanted to take his little brother being that he seemed to have such a desire to go. Of course that list was long and consisted of many things including Disneyland, which he had a gut feeling would never happen during the years Sam had any interest. Whenever little Sammy would see a beach out his window he would eagerly shout, causing John to almost run the Impala off the road on more than one occasion and only agitate him further.

"Please Dad please? Just for a minute? I want to know what the beach feels like," his youngest would beg. When John shut him down, it was Dean to the, somewhat, rescue. As he peered in the back at a now deflated little brother, he called back, "it's better that way you know. I hear there's sand sharks that hide out deep under the sand at beaches."

"Sand sharks?" Sam asked skeptically.

"Yep. They like to go for your toes when you dig them in the sand. Or your whole body if you ever bury yourself in it. It's why Dad doesn't want us going, he doesn't want us getting eaten."

"Is it true?" The young boy asked staring at his father with frightened hazel eyes. John glanced at Dean who only stared back at him.

"Uh huh," he answered.

Of course years went by and although Sam grew out of believing in "sand sharks," he still was a bit cautious to the idea that some monster of a sort may be a sand dweller. Now that they were full grown, or as Dean called Sam, overgrown, he had wanted desperately to get away for awhile. Just the brothers on a beach, like Sam had always wanted.

Both boys had of course felt sand before, but something about the beach was just...different. It was soft as Sam wiggled his toes in and out, watching it collect and coat his feet and roll off leaving them freckled with multi-colored grains. He smiled down at them before his features morphed into uncertainty.

"Where are we?" He asked.

"Bodega Bay, California." When Sam's expression didn't change, Dean went on. "What's with the dropped ice cream cone look?"

"Of all the beaches, why this one?" To that the eldest answered first with a shrug.

"Beats me. I would have gone with the Caribbean myself. I hear they're brighter and...cleaner," Dean commented with a look of disgusts twisting his features. "There's all kind of shit in this sand. Feathers, wrappers, beer caps, glass, I even found a used condom earlier. You know what they say, one man's trash is another man's loss of appetite."

Sam had tuned out his brother while he had been listing the "treasures" of the beach. It had been so calming with all the sounds a harmonious mix of what might be found on a CD of relaxing whit noise, with the exception of his sibling. The younger man looked over at Dean once again. "Now what?" He asked taking another swig from his beer bottle.

"I don't know. I mean I've wanted to go to a beach since we were kids but I just-I feel...wrong." Dean quirked an eyebrow at him. "I mean we've been wanting this for such a long time. A chance to kick back and relax like the average Joe, but something isn't right. Like you for starters."

"Excuse me?" Dean challenged.

"You aren't Dean. You're dream Dean. You aren't real. Just like, I'm not really at a beach in California. I'm not at any beach or in California. And I'm not just kicking back and relaxing, I'm-I think I'm dying, Dean."

"Don't be dramatic Sam."

"No, it's true. Last thing I remember was...we were on a hunt. Some people had gone missing and we got a tip that they may be in a cabin and...I-" Sam paused and looked around as if something would confirm his theory.

"You what?" Dean pressed.

"I-I think, something happened. Dean, I think-I think something bad happened to me."

The waves seemed rougher now as they crashed more forcefully against the sand and the sky grew heavier with clouds, casting shadows.

"Relax Sammy, we both know I wouldn't let anything bad happen to you," Dean reassured his brother. The younger man brought his eyes up to look at his sibling.

"Shit happens. I mean whatever this is...It's not your fault."

"What do you think happened?"

Sam slowly shook his head as he strained to remember.

I don't know. It's kind of a blur. I just remember us hunting and then...pain. Almost like when I was stabbed, but different at the same time. Then it was like I couldn't get air in or something was preventing me from breathing." Sam's eyes softened as they searched the elder Winchester for some kind of confirmation that what he said didn't sound impossible, much like he use to when they were kids.

Dean frowned. "I need to wake up."

"And leave all this?"

"I'm dying. And if I'm dying, you could be next," Sam informed the man next to him.

"Or, if you are dying..." he said with a carefree shrug, "you could stay here with me and let calgon take you away."

The younger man shook his head and scoffed as he rose to his feet and peered down at Dean.

"Now I really know you aren't my brother. Dean would never say that to me. He'd want me to keep fighting, and that's exactly what I'm gonna do."

"You really think you're strong enough to wake up from near death?" The man countered as he removed his sunglasses from his face.

"I don't know, but I'm sure as hell gonna try," Sam responded.

"How?"

"Easy, I'm going to take a page out your book. Well not your book, the real Dean's book."

"Which is?"

The hunter brought his eyes so that they were focused straight ahead of him.

"Old wives tale. I'm going to kill myself."

"Isn't that a bit redundant? How do you know it's going to work?"

Sam shrugged, wiggled his fingers, and let out a deep breath.

"Guess I'm gonna find out."

Dean sat silent, his stare fixed on the man towering over him. Without another glance or word to him, Sam sprinted towards the ocean until his body collide with the water. He pushed himself out further and further until he no longer could reach the bottom with his feet, and then threw his body under the water, squeezed his eyes shut, and opened his mouth. Salty water began to fill his lungs and he fought back the urge to re-submerge. Time seemed to slow down if not stop altogether.

The next time Sam opened up his eyes, he found himself laying bloody on the floor gasping for air. A sharp pain brought his attention to the still bleeding hole in his side. His crimson colored hands pressed to the injury applying as much pressure as Sam could muster as he let out a groan. Waking up from near death was half the battle, finding his brother and not passing out or dying in the process was the next half.

 **A/n: Guest: Thank you so much for your review from "Just a Flesh Wound." That's exactly what I was going for, so I'm so pleased that you mentioned it. John is very lucky he didn't lose his son. Your welcome and thank you for reading everything! I'm so glad you like it all.**


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